


The Empire Strikes Back

by PenPatronusAooO



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Bromance, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Bromance, Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Tony Stark, Kidnapping, Male Friendship, PenPatronus, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Team as Family, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6853885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenPatronusAooO/pseuds/PenPatronusAooO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Captain America: Civil War." Tony is arrested for Steve's crimes, and an unexpected enemy kidnaps and tortures him for information about his missing teammates. Will the Avengers reunite, or will their empire be toppled once and for all? WHUMP, BROMANCE, HURT/COMFORT</p><p>STORY COMPLETE! as of 11/29/17</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Empire Strikes Back

Fate found the five exiled Avengers after a dinner of barbecued goat, coconut milk, mangoes, and cooked bananas. Following dessert, they hauled pillows, an orange rug, and a pitcher of rum onto the roof of the royal palace. Together they sat around a dim lantern like it was a campfire, watched the stars come out, drank, and played their new favorite game: ‘If I was King of Wakanda.’

“If I was King of Wakanda,” Scott Lang said, “I would have slides—like, those tube slides at playgrounds, right? I would have slides, like, everywhere. Just roll out of bed and—zoom! I’d slide to the bathroom. Zoom! I’d slide to the kitchen. Zoom! Back to bed.”

“If I was King of Wakanda,” said Sam Wilson, “I’d have a game floor. Not a game room, a game floor! Pool tables, ping-pong tables, arcade games, a bowling alley, mini-golf, one of those giant chess games with real horses.”

Steve Rogers cracked a smile for the first time in two weeks. “Real horses? You’re going to have horses running around inside your palace?”

“Don’t make fun of my giant chess horses or you won’t be invited!” Wilson warned. Steve cradled his stomach as he chuckled.

“I would have a spa day, every day,” Wanda said after she took a long sip of rum. “An army of handsome men massaging my feet, styling my hair, doing my nails.”

“If I had horses in my palace, would they go down the slides?” Scott wondered.

“If I was King of Wakanda,” Clint Barton declared, “I would be so…fat. I’d just sit around and eat. I’d put a La-Z-Boy chair on the throne, get a giant TV, watch reruns of buddy cop shows, and just eat pineapple and Milky Ways all day.”

“Mm,” Sam hummed against his glass, “and play Guitar Hero. Guitar Hero on your La-Z-throne.”

“What is Guitar Hero? I have not heard of this?” Wanda wondered.

“It’s a game. You play guitar,” Scott explained. “Like a hero.”

“Like a superhero,” Clint said, raising his glass to his teammates. “Wanda, last time you emailed me you said you were learning guitar, didn’t you? Who’s teaching you?”

“Um, Rhodey got it for me. We only had one lesson…” Wanda sucked in her cheeks and clenched her teeth around them. The mood soured at the mention of the absent Avenger. Every pair of eyes around the circle avoided the others.

Sam cleared his throat and tried to salvage the moment. “If I was King of Wakanda, I’d have air conditioning!”

Steve scowled at him. “T’Challa was kind enough to give us refuge, and you’re complaining about the air conditioning?”

“I’m not complaining,” Sam corrected. “It’s just weird that the dude has a palace, but there’s zero AC.”

“They’re used to the humidity,” Steve said. “Or they’re just so evolved that they know better than to spend money on things they don’t need!”

Wilson pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a statue of a black panther down there that’s the size of a city bus! He’s got to be as rich as Tony Stark.”

The mood shifted again. Steve, who usually took his time with alcohol, gulped half of his glass down. Scott opened his mouth to attempt to lighten the mood when a scratching sound came from behind Wanda. She turned to see a gloved hand clamp over the lip of the roof. “Clint!”

Barton unsheathed a handgun and aimed it at the stranger. “Who’s there?” he called. “Is that you, Spider-Boy?”

A second gloved hand joined the first. “I hiked through the forest all day, snuck past the guards, climbed up ten stories, and you’re not even going to give me a hand?” a familiar voice asked.

Clint shared a shocked look with Steve. “Oh, my god.” Both men pocketed their weapons and sprinted to the edge. Together they hauled the intruder onto the roof—an intruder who carried a backpack the size of a coffee table. “Nat!” Barton greeted. He yanked her up in a hug so high and tight that her boots came off the floor. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood,” Natasha joked with a roll of her eyes. “Really, of all the places to hide out, this ain’t bad.”

Scott gave her a half-hearted wave. “There’s no air conditioning,” he said, almost apologetically.

Natasha nodded ‘hello’ to Sam and Wanda. “Are you guys ok?” she asked, circling a manicured nail around a faded bruise on Clint’s collarbone. She looked at Rogers. “Where’s Bucky?”

“Suspended animation,” Steve explained. He offered to take the backpack from her and she shrugged it off. “Are you alone?”

“Lately? Almost always,” Natasha admitted. She nodded at the rug. “Room for one more?”

“There’s always room for you,” Clint assured her. When they sat down together, Wanda inched away. “Take it easy. She helped Steve and Bucky escape the airport, remember?”

“After she helped Stark attack us,” Wanda reminded him.

“Water under the bridge,” Nat declared. “Besides, I was pulling my punches.”

Barton grinned at her. “So was I.”

She smiled back. “I know.”

Sam leaned towards Rogers. “Are you sure about her?”

Steve looked around at the miles of foliage, exotic animals, and waterfalls in every direction. “I’m sure she has a good reason for making the hike.”

Nat slid her gloves off and used them to fan her face. “What are we drinking? Rum?”

Scott arranged his hands into a ‘T’ for ‘timeout.’ “Uh, I realize that I’m the new guy here so maybe this is a dumb question but seriously, Spider-Chick, whose side are you on…now?”

“It’s Black Widow,” Natasha corrected firmly. “And there aren’t sides anymore. The war’s over. Neither side won, I’d say. Rhodey definitely lost.”

Wilson hung his head. “How is he?”

“Doing physical therapy at the Compound. Tony rigged up some tech to help him walk.”

“Is that where you’ve been?” Steve asked. “With Stark?”

“No, like you I’ve been on the run from Ross and the United Nations. Only I ended up in Quebec instead of paradise.”

“No air conditioning,” Scott repeated.

“But you’ve been in contact with them.” Wanda sat up on her knees and braced her elbows against her thighs. “Is Vis all right?”

Nat looked at her. “Yes. Tony says he’s bored without you.”

Wanda blushed.

Steve pulled on his fingers, cracking them one at a time. “How’s Tony?” he asked so quietly that only Natasha heard him.

Natasha unzipped a small pocket on her bag, took out a Stark-phone, and held it up like a trump card. “Tony’s in trouble,” she said. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

Wanda leapt to her feet. “Absolutely not!”

Wilson folded his arms and spat, “Hell, NO!”

“No way!” Scott stood and backed away as if from a grenade. “No way in hell am I helping that asshole!”

Three high-pitched cackles erupted from Clint’s chest. “Nat, people usually ask for help from their friends. Nobody here is Tony Stark’s friend!”

“Whoa,” Nat gasped. She held up her hands as if they’d all pulled a gun on her. “Calm down.”

Clint rolled up his t-shirt and showed Nat a bandage that covered half of his torso. “Stark almost blew me up at the airport.”

“He shot me at point blank range!” said Wilson.

“Stark gave Ross the collar that subdued my powers!” Wanda sputtered.

“It’s his fault we got locked up in that underwater maximum security hellhole!” Scott throttled the air with both fists. “And then he pretended to not know who I was!” When four faces frowned at him, Scott shrugged and said, “Ok, maybe that wasn’t his worst sin, but I’m still pissed about it…”

“Guys…” Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes like he was battling a migraine. “Let’s hear her out.”

“You all make valid points,” Natasha conceded. “Yes, Scott, you ended up in the Raft. What you don’t know is that Tony allowed T’Challa to follow him there. If he hadn’t, then T’Challa couldn’t have told Steve about it, and Steve never would’ve found you.” She turned to Wilson. “Yes, Sam, he shot you. He shot at everyone. But he kept his promise to you. You gave him the intel, and he went alone and as a friend. He could’ve told Ross and sent the whole army after Steve and Bucky, but he didn’t.” Wanda started pacing, and Natasha’s eyes danced back and forth as she addressed her. “Yes, Wanda, that was Stark tech. Yes, Tony ordered Vision to detain you in the Compound. But, when the prison was breached, you guys only escaped because Tony refused to come help when Ross called. He could’ve stopped you, but he didn’t. And as for you, Barton…”

Clint cut her off. “I’m supposed to be waterskiing with my kids.” Barton’s voice was low, and dangerously measured. “My family doesn’t know if I’m alive or dead right now because I can’t contact them, because I’m a fugitive, because of Stark! He stood by when Ross’ men carted me off from the airport!” Clint shook his head at her. “YOU stood by, Nat! You’re supposed to be my friend!”

“I am.” Natasha turned the phone on and set it face-up on the rug. “And so is Tony. I can prove it, Clint. I can prove that he deserves your help.”

All eyes turned to Steve. He sat statue-still and stared at the flickering lantern. “What happened?” he whispered.

“You’re really going to listen to her two-faced bullshit? You’ve got to be kidding me,” Lang snorted. He took a long swig of rum and then marched towards the spiral staircase in the corner of the roof. “I’m out!” he declared, and mimed scrubbing soap and water around his hands and then flicking it off. “I wash my hands of all of you!”

“Lang,” Sam called reluctantly. He opened his mouth to continue speaking, but failed to find anymore words.

“Pym is sending a private jet for me in a couple days,” Scott announced. “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to leave. Seriously, Rogers, I was more than happy to help you fight some psycho assassins but THIS is where I draw the line! I have a daughter—I’m DONE!” The rest of the group heard the echoing mumbles as Scott descended the staircase, muttering to himself in disbelief, and cursing all of the Avengers as he went.

Wanda glared at Natasha, and then started to follow Lang.

“One more thing,” Natasha called to her. “Wanda, you should know that a year ago, Ross ordered Tony to tell him where your brother was buried.”

“What?” Wanda’s legs went rubbery. She sat down beside Sam and dug her fingers into the rug. “Why?”

Nat’s nose wrinkled. “To analyze Pietro’s body…to make more Quicksilvers. Tony REFUSED.”

“He never told me that,” Steve murmured.

Nat gave him a look that was almost pity. “I think that he didn’t want to burden you with more than you already had,” she said softly. “He was trying to protect you, Steve.”

“And I was trying to protect him when I didn’t tell him that the Winter Soldier murdered his parents,” Steve murmured. He gestured at the group. “Look where our good intentions have landed us.”

“I’m sorry, guys, but my number one priority is to get home to my family,” Clint declared. He finished his drink and got to his feet. “Whatever mess Stark has gotten himself into now, I…I don’t care.”

Nat grabbed his wrist. She squeezed it tight, like she was checking for a pulse. “Five minutes.” It was almost a beg. “One video clip.”

Nat didn’t wait for his answer. She tapped the Stark-phone’s screen, and a holographic image appeared. Another tap, and the video started to roll. Wanda Maximoff gasped at the sight, and Sam Wilson had to turn away from the picture of Tony Stark, more bruise than not, tied up in a chair. Bright lights highlighted every blood-splattered contusion on Tony’s pale skin. His reactions were sluggish, his eyes slow to blink, even when a fist came at his face. The bad guys had taken away his suit jacket and shirt, leaving his naked torso unprotected. White liquid entered his body through an IV in his left arm. A masked man in dark camo kicked Tony in the ribs and though the chair trembled, it stayed upright and secured to the floor. Tony spit blood.

The masked man circled him like a hungry shark. “Where is Nick Fury?” he demanded. A subtle boredom in his voice betrayed the fact that this was not the first time he’d asked that question. “Where is Phil Coulson?”

Tony slouched in his seat. They could barely hear him speak over his gasping breaths. “I don’t know.”

“Where is Thor? Where is Banner?” The masked man grabbed his throat. “We know that Steve Rogers contacted you. Where is he? WHERE IS HE?”

“I won’t tell you.” Tony gasped out the last of his oxygen.

Steve stood up from the table and threw the pitcher of rum off the roof like a shot-putter.

The masked man loosened his grip. Keeping his hand around Tony’s throat, he slowly walked around until he stood behind the chair. Double doors opened. The Avengers watched, shocked, as two men dragged a woman into the interrogation room. Pepper Potts’ hair was disheveled, her pantsuit ripped, her cheeks doused with terrified tears. She tried and failed to speak around the gag covering her mouth, and winded up just shaking her head back and forth at top speed.

“No,” Tony croaked. He struggled with his binds. “No, God, please.”

“Nat?” Steve gasped.

“The real Pepper Potts is safe. Coulson’s team took her to a safe house outside of Phoenix right after Stark was kidnapped. It’s difficult to tell, but this woman is wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. facial camo, the same tech I wore to infiltrate the Triskelion. That’s not Pepper…” Nat’s voice dropped past a whisper. “…but Tony doesn’t know that.”

“Oh, my god,” Sam whispered.

A gun pressed against Pepper’s temple. She shrieked. She shook.

“Please, no,” Stark begged.

“Answer this question,” the masked man whispered. “I give you one chance to answer this question, or she dies.” The man paused, and everyone leaned forward except for Natasha, who put her face in her hands. “We know that Clint Barton has a family,” the masked man hissed in Tony’s ear. “Where are they?”

Tony’s face seemed to slide, to droop. Too many emotions to count flickered across his face. “I love you,” Stark whispered to his ex-girlfriend.

“WHERE ARE THEY?” the man bellowed.

“He has kids, Pep,” Tony whispered. “Honey, he has a b-baby…”

“Tell me!”

The woman in the Pepper mask wept.

A breath.

“TELL ME!”

A single tear dripped off of Tony’s chin.

“No.”

A crack. Blood splattered. The howl of grief and rage that came from Tony Stark sounded inhuman.

Stark slumped in his chair, his body suddenly still as if he’d taken the bullet himself. And then the trembles began. His body seized and quaked with sadness so hard that the floor vibrated. “No,” he cried. “NOOOOOO!”

Natasha paused the video. Tony’s voice seemed to echo throughout Wakanda.

Barton crouched half-standing, half-sitting, like he was about to leap right into the video. “Now do you believe,” Nat whispered, “that he’s your friend?”

Twin tears plopped onto Clint’s cheeks. He slumped back down to his knees and hunched over. With a voice like sifting gravel, he stuttered, “W-We have to s-save him. T-Tonight.”

Wanda put her hand on top of Clint’s. He flipped his around, palm up, braided their fingers, and squeezed. “We will save him, together,” she vowed.

Sam nodded. “Stark’s a son of a bitch, but nobody deserves this.”

Steve’s jaw was firm—all business. “Intel, Romanoff. What happened?”

Natasha pressed her finger against the phone and scrolled to the next video. Mute newscasters reported in front of images of General Ross and Tony Stark arguing at the Strategic Operations Command Center. “Strike one for Ross was when Tony failed to bring you and Bucky in. Strike two was when Tony lied about knowing that you were in Siberia. Strike three was when he ignored the prison breach. After that, Ross convinced half of the intelligence community that Stark was on your side the whole time, that he signed the Accords just so that he could be your spy on the inside. The UN put out a warrant for Stark’s arrest.”

“They came for him, and Stark surrendered. On its way to Ross, the convoy Tony was in was attacked,” Nat continued. The hologram changed to a satellite image that showed half a dozen cars and trucks upended and on fire. “Four choppers and six armored vehicles ambushed it about a mile from the Compound. Rhodey saw the smoke but by the time Vision got there, every man was dead, and Stark was gone.”

Steve frowned. “Does Ross have any leads?”

Natasha stuck her chin out. Her bottom lip swelled with anger. “He’s dragging his feet. Everyone is. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. until Maria Hill received the video file. The rest of it shows Stark drugged, tortured…it’s brutal. Finally, the leader steps in front of the camera and delivers an ultimatum. S.H.I.E.L.D. has 72 hours to meet their demands, or Stark’s dead. That was 24 hours ago.”

“What do they want?” Clint asked.

“Their biggest demand? Steve,” Natasha said. “Dead or alive. Preferably, dead.”

“So this all might be a trap for him,” Sam cautioned.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Steve. “We have to go.”

“We have to hurry,” Natasha said.

Clint snorted through a running nose. “Of course we do.”

“No, I mean, I think we need to really, REALLY hurry. I don’t think Tony’s…healthy.”

Steve heard another shoe dropping. “What do you mean?”

“Way back when,” Natasha said, “when we were all at the Compound, talking about the Accords, Tony said—in that damn passive way of his—that he had a headache, remember? He said he was nursing an electromagnetic headache? Later, in the conference room, after Ross ordered us to bring Steve and Bucky in, Stark said—just, again, in passing—he said that his left arm was numb. I could tell that he was in pain. He was touching his chest…His heart. I asked him if he was ok but…”

Steve stared at her. “You’re holding something back. Spit it out, Romanoff.”

She gave him the type of smile a proud teacher offers a pupil. “Around the time that Tony was kidnapped, there was a break-in at a Stark Industries facility outside of Boston. Only one piece of tech was stolen. It’s a prototype that Stark introduced at MIT just a couple weeks before all of this went down. He described it as a therapeutic experiment. It taps into his mind and projects an interactive image of a memory. He can see the memory, relate to it, reshape it—ultimately, change it—even for just a moment. The tech he wears to access the memories utilize electromagnets. So, you have to figure that if Tony’s been using that tech a lot lately, that’s probably the cause of his headaches.”

“What memory has he been interacting with?” Sam asked.

Nat met Steve’s eyes, looked away, and then met them again. “A memory of his parents. Specifically, the last time he saw them alive.”

Steve rubbed calloused hands down his cheeks. “He’s only recently been processing the grief of his parents’ deaths. No wonder I couldn’t reach him in Siberia…”

“And the grief of losing Pepper at the same time. And Bruce is still missing. And then all of this,” Nat pointed at the broken team, “and now, that,” she pointed at the phone.

“Do we know who took the tech? Or at least what they’ll use it for?” Clint wondered.

“No clue. But if they’re using it on Tony, who knows what damage could be done?”

“Do we know who took him?” Clint asked.

“The drop site for Steve’s dead body is the CIA, but the video originated from a former S.H.I.E.L.D. black site outside of Sydney, Australia. And, as for who has him, take a look.” Nat brought up a screenshot of the camo-clad leader, zoomed in, adjusted colors, focused pixels, and then blew the image up even larger. “The ski mask covers his face, but we recognized the brand and the tattoos.”

The tendons in Steve’s neck rippled and he clenched his fists tight. “Klaue. That’s Ulysses Klaue.”

Clint stared at the picture. “The arms dealer Ultron stole the Vibranium from? He’s the one who kidnapped Stark?”

“That is impossible,” a new voice boomed. Everyone pivoted to the staircase where King T’Challa suddenly appeared. The Black Panther’s eyes studied the image with skepticism. “Ulysses Klaue has resided in my dungeon for the past six months.”

Steve stood up and offered the king a slight bow. “Your Highness.”

“I suspect that you’ll want to see him for yourself.” Black Panther offered with a tired smile, “You may follow me to the prison, if you wish.”

Nat pocketed the phone. “That’s a good idea. If it’s not Klaue, we need to confirm it. Let’s go, Captain America.”

“Don’t call me that!” Everyone recoiled from Steve’s tone. Rogers gave them each an apologetic look and took a deep breath. “I’m not Captain America anymore. I renounced my country’s government, disobeyed the entire United Nations. I’m an expatriate. When I left the shield with Tony, I left Captain America behind. I’m just…” He shrugged with his entire body—shoulders, arms, knees, feet. “Now, I’m just Steve Rogers.”

Natasha unzipped her coffee table-sized bag. “I stopped by the Compound on my way here. Stark was writing this when the police knocked on his door.” She handed Steve a crumpled, coffee-stained, half-finished letter in Tony’s handwriting. “And Rhodey said Tony would want you to have this.”

Liquid that wasn’t quite tears, but more than just the usual fluids filled Steve’s eyes when Natasha placed the shield in his arms. The scrapes had been sanded down and the Vibranium smoothed. The red white and blue paint job was gone. In its place, a brilliant blue on top of the bright silver, was a circle surrounding the Avengers’ “A.”

“Captain…Avenger?” Nat tried the nickname on for size, but frowned at it. “Captain…Avenge? Avenger Captain…?”

Steve smiled. “Cap,” he conceded. “Just Cap.”

\---------

For the longest time, Tony’s only company was the chair he sat in and Pepper’s blood on the floor. He watched his own drip off of his body and mix with hers as the rivulets floated towards the drain. Stark saw images in the splatters the way children see figures in clouds. One drop was shaped like a heart, another like a rabbit, a third like the birthmark on the inside of Pepper’s thigh. He remembered the last time he kissed her there, and his heart seemed to shrivel and shrink. Maybe he was bleeding out, bleeding to death, and part of him wanted that. Pepper, his father, and his mother were waiting for him elsewhere, and Tony was suddenly in a hurry to follow.

A door squeaked. Stark pulled his heart back before it could leap. No rescue team was coming through that door. The Avengers were fractured. Every world government hated him. The woman he loved was dead and his best friend could barely walk. Tony thought of that cave in Afghanistan three lifetimes ago—how he had a reason to escape, and people to go home to. And now…

The man in the ski mask and dark camo dragged a chair across the floor and sat down across from Tony, who watched as the stranger rubbed off the tattoos on his neck and peeled away the fake Wakandan brand. He cleared his throat, and rubbed it, as if his lousy impersonation of Ulysses Klaue had strained something. When the ski mask came off, it dropped directly onto the drain, and Stark’s blood pooled around it.

“Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

“Should I?” Tony croaked. He recognized the Caucasian man’s scowling thin lips, head like a brick, nose like a shark’s fin, but couldn’t place it. Tony wanted to fake a yawn and joke about ordering a pizza, but just those couple of words took so much out of him. He was so tired, and there was so much blood on the floor…

“Jack Rollins. I was Rumlow’s second-in-command on the STRIKE team.”

“And what you now? Just another hired gun?”

“A very well-funded hired gun,” Rollins corrected. “The man who paid me to kidnap you will be here any minute, and I wanted to make sure you look presentable.”

“Present—?” Tony managed before Rollins clocked him across the jaw. Two more jabs followed. Blood pooled in the back of his mouth.

“That’s better. A little more red.” Rollins took a fistful of Tony’s hair and yanked his head to the side. “Here’s the thing, Stark,” Rollins whispered into his ear, like he was sharing a gossip-worthy secret, “I get one hell of a bonus if I can get you to tell me where Rogers is. Beating you didn’t do it. I could probably bring in ten more of your old girlfriends and shoot them, too, and you still probably wouldn’t do it. So, tell me, what will it take, huh? What do you want?”

Stark snorted. Blood dripped from his left nostril. “Nothing you could give me,” he whispered, thinking of his mother.

Rollins backhanded him and jerked his head to the other side. “They’re not coming for you, you know,” he hissed. “The Captain, Hawkeye, Fury…They don’t give a shit if you live or die. You’ve burned every bridge, Stark, and they’re leaving you in the fire. Even if you’ve got some Stark Industries bodyguard on your payroll with orders to come after you, they’ll never find you. They’ll be chasing Klaue’s ghost for weeks and, by then, you’ll be dead. So…” Rollins wrapped both hands around Stark’s neck but held the fingers an inch away from the skin, poised to strike but still patient. “Since you’re the only one who can save you, tell me, right now, where Steve Rogers is.”

Tony gathered every ounce of liquid in his mouth and spit with all of his might. Rollins staggered, pawing at his face out of both disgust and rage. He brought his cannonball-sized hand back, and aimed at Tony’s nose, but before he could fire a new voice called his name from the door.

The buyer arrived.

Color fled Tony’s face. “You?” he gasped.

\---------

For the fourth time in four minutes, Steve took the letter out of his uniform pocket and unfolded it. For the fourth time in four minutes he only got as far as “Dear Capsicle” before he lost his nerve, and stuffed it away again. Natasha, who sat beside him in the Quinjet, barely muffled an impatient sigh. “Just read it, Rogers,” she begged.

“Nat, just take it from him and read it yourself,” Clint called from the rear of the Quinjet where he was stuffing arrows in his quiver. “How long, Sam?”

“We’re still an hour out.” Wilson turned halfway around in the pilot’s seat. “Be patient, man. Should’ve brought you a coloring book or a juice box or something.” Beside him, Wanda chuckled to herself as she rolled a ball of red light between her fingers like a magician with a coin.

Clint sighed and sat down between Rogers and Romanoff. “I hate this part,” he said. “The Indian Ocean is too damn big!”

“Take a nap,” Natasha suggested.

“Can’t. I’m too wired.” Clint tugged on each of his fingers, cracking them one at a time. “I keep thinking about…What if Stark gave in? They’re drugging him. They have that memory tech…What if HYDRA is at the farm right now?”

“If HYDRA shows up at your front door, Laura will shoot them in the face with a shotgun. Besides, there’s no way in hell Tony would give up anything now. Not when he thinks Pepper died for that information.”

“Or the opposite could happen. He might think that he has nothing else to lose, no reason to live,” Steve mused. He shook his head at his own dark thoughts and combed his fingers through his hair. “He’ll hang on, Barton. He has to.”

Natasha watched every twitch in Steve’s face. “You’re really worried about him.”

Cap shook his head. “I’m not sure what I’m feeling.”

“Stark told me about Siberia.” Natasha studied the captain’s face as she spoke. “You could’ve killed him, but you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t,” Steve whispered. “It was close, Nat. It was really close. But I couldn’t do it. And now, I’ll help Stark, but will he even come with me if I’m the one who finds him? He was so angry, Nat. Not telling him about his parents hurt him more than any punch ever could.”

Natasha leaned forward in her seat, braced her elbows on top of her knees, and folded her hands. “I kept that secret, too. When Stark told me what happened, I confessed that I also knew about his parents. Do you know what he said to me?”

Steve rubbed his lip where the ghost of a bruise still lingered. “Well, when he found out I kept that from him he attacked me, so…”

“He thanked me.”

Steve stared at Natasha. “What?”

“He had a couple weeks to process everything, Steve. He understands that I was trying to be a good friend, trying to spare him pain, and so were you.” Natasha counted to ten before she spoke again. “Read the letter, Steve.”

Steve reached into his pocket, but right then a light flashed in the cockpit. “Incoming message!” Wilson called.

Barton jogged up to the screen. “It’s Fury.” Steve and Natasha flanked him, and he pressed the button. “Hey, boss.”

“Well, well, well,” Nick Fury greeted when he saw the group. “Looks like we all had a swell time in Wakanda. Nice tan, Barton. No T’Challa?”

“This isn’t his fight,” Cap reasoned. “And he has a country to run. We should be grateful he didn’t arrest Romanoff on sight, and that he let us talk to Klaue.”

“Right. Did you get the blueprints I sent you?”

“Yes, Sir,” Clint said. “The black site’s weak points are the north and east basements. We have a plan.”

“And I have some bad news.”

Natasha and Steve shared a worried look. “Not in the mood for more bad news, boss,” she said.

“No one ever is.” Fury leaned forward so that his entire face took up the screen. “HYDRA mercenaries kidnapped Stark, and we know who funded them. It was the same man who hired Rumlow to steal that biological weapon on Lagos. You’re not going to like this.” Fury looked at Natasha. “Especially you, Romanoff.”

\---------

“Dear Capsicle,”

“I like this letter writing thing. Whenever we’re talking in the same room I’m always standing on my tiptoes, trying to look taller than you. Metaphorically…Sort of…”

“When I fumbled in the fourth quarter of a youth football game, my dad shook his head at me, all disappointed, and said, “Captain America would’ve held onto that ball.”

“That was one of his favorite things to say. Captain America would’ve done this; Captain America would’ve done that… Blah, blah, blah. I was never as good as Captain America. I’m still not.”

“I didn’t hate you when I was a kid. I was jealous. I didn’t understand why a dead guy got so much of my father’s attention. He missed my eighth grade science fair because some fisherman swore he saw an “alien ship” in the ice. Dad thought it was your plane.”

“I haven’t had a panic attack in long time. Even after Maximoff zapped my brain, even after Ultron and Sokovia, even after Pepper left me. But when I realized that Ross didn’t care if you lived or died, suddenly my chest hurt and my arm went numb. I think my heart chose you over Ross before I did, if that makes sense.”

“Cap, when I said that ‘we’ need you, I wasn’t talking about the U.N. I wasn’t talking about the taskforce, or even about the Avengers. I should’ve said ‘I.’ I need you. And I need you to be closer than a phone call away. I need us to be a team even when the world isn’t ending.”

“I lost Pepper. By default, I lost Happy. I’ve probably lost Nat and Clint, and in a way I’ve lost Rhodey. I don’t want to lose you, too. And I don’t want the world to lose you, either. My father made that shield, but you made Captain America.”

“I think I know what’s going to happen next. I think Ross might put me in the Raft. I won’t go into the details but the bottom line is that from his perspective, I took your side. If I get arrested, so be it. I’ll go quietly.”

“Don’t come after me. You owe me nothing.”

“I’m sure there are lots of ironic parallels we could make. You wouldn’t let me bring Barnes in, and I wouldn’t let Ross bring you in. You wanted to be the one to bring Bucky in after the bombing, because you would bring him in alive. That’s why I went to the airport, Cap, to bring you in alive. I get it now. I get why you chose Bucky over the governments, because I made a similar choice about you, my friend.”

“I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry that Peggy died. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that a bomb wasn’t the Winter Soldier’s MO. I’m sorry that I let Zemo manipulate my emotions. And, more than anything, I’m sorry that I”

Steve knew that there were no more words on the paper, but he flipped it over anyhow. He turned it upside down, sideways, even shook it as if, by magic, that would make the rest of Tony’s words appear.

From the cockpit, Wilson announced, “We’re over Sydney. Starting our descent.”

Natasha watched Cap carefully fold the letter up and slide it safely back into his pocket. “Big revelations?” she asked. “Maybe a clue about where to hit this manipulative, two-faced, traitorous bastard?”

Steve avoided her gaze. “Suit up, Avengers.”

\---------

Tony swallowed. His throat was made of sandpaper. “Is it too late to apologize for putting you on hold?”

Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross took a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped down Rollins’ chair before sitting on it. “Here’s what was supposed to happen,” he sighed with a neutral expression, neutral body language, but a fire burning beyond his eyes. “Here’s what would’ve happened if Zemo hadn’t interfered…”

“I, I, I don’t, don’t, don’t…” Stark stuttered. He desperately wanted his hands free so that he could toss them into the air in disbelief. “I don’t understand.”

“If Zemo hadn’t set off that bomb and shifted everyone’s attention to Rogers’ childhood playmate then, eventually, after enough time, guilt, and political pressure, Captain America would’ve signed the Accords. My plan was working perfectly.”

“What plan?” Tony squirmed. “What the hell did you do?”

“I just wanted to speed things up.” Ross scowled. “The United Nations moved too slowly after Sokovia. The Accords would’ve bounced around committees for years. It might’ve taken another Ultron for them to finally act.” Ross smoothed down a few stray moustache hairs and pulled his chair closer to Stark’s. “They needed a push, so I orchestrated one. Better that a few people die in Lagos now than a hundred on American soil next month.”

“You hired Rumlow to steal that biological weapon,” Tony gasped. “Cap almost got killed!”

Ross shrugged. “Collateral damage.”

Tony strained against his bonds. “You son of a bitch.”

“You needed a push, too, Stark, so I told Charlie Spencer’s mother how to corner you at MIT,” Ross explained. “I knew that guilt and self-loathing would work on you more than political pressure, and I needed you to convince Rogers and the rest of the Avengers to play nice. I thought you could do that, even after Zemo helped Barnes escape. But, you failed to bring Rogers in. Your failure was mine. All of the public outrage, media attention, and political pressure aimed at the Avengers shifted to me. The only way I can salvage my career is to put you and Rogers in prison.”

“I surrendered,” Tony reminded him. “I surrendered to the police, so why did you have Rollins kidnap me?”

“Because who would suspect me of abducting you from my own convoy? And because you’ve made it perfectly clear, Stark, that to get to Rogers I’ll have to go through you. The interrogation techniques needed to get you to talk are not exactly legal, so…” Ross nodded at somebody beyond the windows, and the doors opened. “You let me down, Stark, but you won’t today. You will give Rogers and the others up whether you want to or not.”

Rollins’ goons carted in one wagon of equipment after another. Some of the containers featured the Stark Industries logo.

“All of this happened because you weren’t patient with the U.N.,” Stark gulped. “Those innocent people in Lagos didn’t have to die. Zemo killed innocents to turn Steve and I against each other. You’re no better than him.”

“Innocent people always have to die. Zemo was right about that. Zemo was right about a lot of things.” Ross took a cigar out of his breast pocket. He lit it, puffed, and savored it like he was celebrating a victory. “Outside forces can’t destroy an empire like the Avengers. It has to rip itself apart from within. And that, Stark, is what I’m going to do to you.” Ross sent a circle of smoke across Tony’s face like a hangman’s noose. “Give me Rogers, or I’ll rip you apart.”

\---------

The black site was originally an industrial textile factory. Four stories above the surface were filled with rotted spools of yarn, moldy rolls of fabric, dusty shelves, yellowed papers, abandoned sewing machines, needles, pliers, grates, tubing, hundreds of rows of hanging bug-infested shirts and dresses, and rusted pairs of scissors. Every window was broken, every door lopsided, every chimney leaning precariously to one side or another. Stiff green and brown grasses had punched through the cement parking lot while black and emerald vines groped along the brick walls. From the air it was shaped vaguely like a capital letter “B,” with two courtyards that had been overtaken by scrub brush. A few cars and picnic tables were all that decorated the outside the building and, inside, nothing stirred. The first basement was basic storage and a boiler room. The subbasement, according to the Quinjet’s scans, was where the action was happening. Nobody could tell just looking from the surface that at least fifty people were working down there.

Sam landed the jet in another factory’s parking lot half a mile from the site. They had six hours before the city woke up. Six hours of quiet and darkness. Clint opened the jet’s hatch and the Avengers started to file out. When Steve reached the bottom of the ramp, he hesitated, turned back towards the cockpit and called, “Last chance, Lang! Are you in or out?”

Something the size of Steve’s thumbnail tumbled out of one of the ceiling vents. Ant-Man expanded to his regular height in mid-air and landed on the floor on both feet and one fist. He paused for a moment in a hero pose, grinning at the five Avengers. That grin slid away when he saw zero looks of surprise. “Oh, come on,” Scott said, taking his helmet off and tucking it under one arm. “You all knew I was in there? The whole time? Really?”

Cap repeated his question. “Are you in or out?”

“Free trip to Sydney. I was actually thinking about checking out the opera house and the zoo. The aquarium looks fun.” When Barton rolled his eyes and Natasha folded her arms impatiently, Scott sighed and said, “Ok, fine. Yes, I’m in. Rescuing Tony Stark sounds like a lot more fun than playing with manatees.” Still mumbling, Scott fell in line with the group, and they headed out.

Sam sent Redwing hovering ahead. The drone looped around the factory twice. “One Black Hawk helicopter on the roof. Visibility is good with night vision. Zero guards up top,” Wilson reported, “but there’s an arsenal in the boiler room, and most of the subbasement is shielded from my scans.”

“When you say arsenal, do you mean a few shotguns?” Scott asked hopefully.

“I mean it’s loaded with dynamite and C4,” Sam sighed. “This place is rigged to blow.”

“Points of entry?” Steve prompted. The group slowed down as the factory came into view. Cap led the way, ducking behind trees and cars as they approached.

“Elevator shaft is the best bet for the north side of the basement. The east has a spiral staircase with entrances at every floor, including the roof.”

“All right.” Steve crouched onto one knee, and Sam, Clint, Natasha, Wanda, and Scott circled around him. “I’ll take Wanda and Sam north. Nat, you take Clint and Scott east. Infiltrate under the radar as far as you can, for as long as possible. Shout out the second you see Stark, and everyone will swarm. Our only goal tonight is to get Tony out. We’ll deal with Ross and Rollins later.”

Barton and Romanoff cocked their eyebrows at each other. “What if he wants to deal with us tonight?” Clint asked.

Steve’s jaw was set. “Then we’ll strike back,” he declared. “Let’s move out.”

\---------

Cigar smoke trailed Ross as he walked around the stage. He flicked his fingers against the candle, and marveled at how lifelike the holographic flame appeared. The keys on Maria Stark’s piano not only looked but felt like ivory. Howard Stark’s couch felt like leather, with the tiniest prickle of billions of photons. “Astounding,” Ross said to Tony, whose chair had replaced the piano bench. “Such sophisticated holograms, and you use them to play out a fantasy.”

“It’s more therapy than fantasy,” Tony grunted. “This is supposed to be a tool to help people, not torture them.”

“Funny how so many things can do both…” Ross sat down across from Stark and picked up the sunglasses-like tech that accessed Stark’s memories. “Here’s what I asked my scientists,” he said, sliding his fingers along the lenses. “If this technology can extract images from your brain, can it also insert them?”

Tony sat up straight in his chair. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“You got the idea from Maximoff’s powers, didn’t you?” Ross wondered. “But instead of using the Mind Gem to access the brain, you used Aldrich Killian’s system. Between AIM’s tech and your 3D holograms, digitized protons and electromagnets, you’ve turned your mind into a projector. Genius.” Ross stood and held the glasses over Tony’s head like he was about to crown him with a tiara. “I wonder…What would happen if I put these on you right now?”

“You would see what’s happening in my imagination,” Tony said, his tone even and emotionless. “Specifically, you would see a holographic image of me beating the shit out of a holographic version of you.”

Ross cocked his head to the side. “And what if I put an idea in your head? An idea like…Clint Barton’s house. If I put these glasses on you right now, will I see his home?”

Tony glared up at him. His eyes met Ross’ over the rim of the glasses. “I control my mind,” he growled. “You will only see what I choose to let you see.”

Ross tapped a forefinger against the IV line on the inside of Tony’s left elbow. “These drugs are slowly crippling the neutral pathways between your brain cells. In a few minutes your mind will turn into mashed potatoes. You won’t be able to control anything.”

“You won’t be able to extract anything useful.” Tony’s chair creaked as he leaned forward, yanking on the ropes. “Do you know what you’ll get from my mashed potato mind? Mashed potatoes.”

Ross’ cheeks reddened by three shades. “We’ll just have to experiment, then, won’t we?” He nodded at Rollins, who emptied a syringe into the IV line. Ross put the glasses over Stark’s face and used surgical tape to attach them tight. And then he stepped back, off the stage, and said, “Steve Rogers.”

“No.” Tony squeezed his eyes shut. He flicked his head back and forth but the tech stayed attached. He willed himself to focus on something else, anything else—on his mother reading ‘Ferdinand the Bull’ when he was a child, on the last poker game he played with Bruce Banner, on the relieved smile on Rhodey’s face when he found out that he was only partially paralyzed…Anything else.

The drugs kicked in. Memories came, unbidden. A parade of holograms marched across the stage, and Ross and the rest of the audience gasped at what they saw.

They saw 10-year-old Tony donning a Captain America costume to go trick-or-treating.

They saw Steve in Avengers Tower, trying to pick up Thor’s hammer and, for a moment, succeeding.

Steve posing for a picture with Howard Stark and the Howling Commandos. Peggy Carter with her arm wrapped around his…

Steve’s relieved face in New York when the Hulk roared, and Tony started breathing again…

Steve in a hospital bed after the Winter Soldier pulled him out of the Potomac. Tony propped his boots up on the bed and Sam Wilson glared at him…

Teenage Tony taping a vintage Captain America poster to his dartboard and launching the tiny spears with all of his might…

Steve eating shawarma.

Steve arm-wrestling with the Iron Legion—chuckling when he snapped another robot’s arm’s off.

Steve ripping a log in half. So angry. Worse, so disappointed…

Steve collapsing the second they got back to the Quinjet. One of the arm’s dealer’s cronies got in a lucky shot, and he was bleeding internally. Tony cradled him on the floor of the jet as they raced to the hospital…

Tony collapsing the second they got back to the Quinjet. One of the arm’s dealer’s cronies got in a lucky shot, and this time he was the one bleeding internally. Steve held him, rubbed his arms, told him he was going to be all right as the jet raced to the hospital…

The look on Steve’s face when he got that text. Stark hacked into his phone and found out that Peggy died…

Steve bleeding. “…he’s my friend.”

Steve on the receiving end of Iron Man’s punches. The wild look on his face when he stabbed the armor’s heart with the shield…

The holograms scrambled. Lights and force fields realigned. The glasses blinked faster as Stark’s heartrate increased. “No,” Tony moaned. His body slumped. His chin fell against his bare chest and rested there.

And there was Cap on his back beside his broken shield. Steve’s eyes were open, but unseeing. A cold world. The Avengers, dead…The scene started to play in a loop. Stark reached for Rogers’ pulse over and over again. Rogers reached for his wrist, over and over again. Steve died…over and over again. Ross expected another memory to appear, but Tony was stuck in this one.

Tony groaned. His body trembled. He surrendered to the memory and got lost within it. Trapped.

\---------

“Stark—Stark!” a familiar voice barked. “Come on, man, wake up!”

Tony opened his eyes, but didn’t lift his chin. The glasses were gone. The holographic rug was gone, leaving a blank grey stage. Stark blinked, tilted his head to the side, and stared at the dead candle and lifeless piano. The room beyond was dark and two armed guards lay unconscious on the ground. Someone had freed his arms and legs. The sliced ropes lay curled under the chair like dead snakes.

“That’s it. Look at me, man.” Clint Barton knelt in front of him. Brows furrowed, wide nostrils flaring, sweat glistening on his forehead. Clint grinned. “Hey, Tony.”

“Legolas?” Stark croaked.

“That’s right.” Barton put his bow on the floor and braced his hands on his knees. “Can you stand?”

“What are you doing…? You wouldn’t…I let you down.” Steve’s words from Maximoff’s dream echoed in Tony’s memory. “Why didn’t I do more…?”

Clint frowned at him. “You gotta get up, Tony. Get up.”

Tony let his arms fall to the sides. He shuffled forward an inch, took a steadying breath, then shuffled another. Tapping his toes eventually brought the feeling back into his legs. When he teetered to the side, Clint reached out with his right hand but stopped short of touching him. “What do you want?” Tony sighed.

Clint’s eyebrows bounced. “To get you out of here, man. Ross is going after Cap.”

Tony shook his head. “Doesn’t know…where he is…”

“Look, Stark, I know they’ve been messing with your head.” Barton used his right forefinger to point at the IV line still in Tony’s arm. “You don’t remember, but you gave up Cap’s location. Now I need you to tell me so that I can get to him before Ross does.”

Tony slumped back deeper into his chair. “I didn’t tell him,” he whispered.

“Yes, you did. Tell me. Tell me where Cap is!”

“You’re not real. Clint hates me…He’d never come for me.” Tony breathed deeply through his nose and exhaled sharply through his mouth. “And Barton is left-handed, you dumbasses!” he shouted.

The Clint Barton hologram disintegrated in a flash of light. Double doors opened and Ross sauntered in, hands braided behind his back. Rollins and the other guard got up and resumed their posts. “Where’s Rogers?” Ross repeated for the hundredth time. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed how long it had been since he’d slept.

Tony coughed. He leaned over the armrest and spat blood onto the floor. That position was comfortable, for no other reason than the fact that he’d been stuck in another for so long. So, Stark stayed there, draped limply over the side. “How about I ask you a question this time?”

Ross rolled his eyes. “My answer will probably be ‘no.’”

“Let’s say there was no Zemo,” Tony said. He kept his voice quiet, unwilling to put much energy into projecting. “What if Steve went back to the Compound after Peggy Carter’s funeral? Natasha signed the Accords at the U.N., where no bomb went off. Clint and Lang stayed home. The death squad stayed sleeping in Siberia. Barnes was never even in the picture…What if Steve, Wilson, and Maximoff still refused? No matter the political pressure, media manipulation, or my charming persuasions, they still refused. What would’ve happened next?”

Ross mirrored holo-Barton’s position. He took Stark by the collar and made him meet his eyes. “After I exhausted all negotiations?” he asked. “Then I would’ve had the taskforce declare them a menace to society. I would’ve locked them up in the Raft for the rest of their lives. And if you refused to help, I would’ve done the same to you.”

“You wouldn’t ratify the Accords? Compromise in some places? Loosen some restrictions so that everybody was happy with them?” Tony studied his enemy’s expressions. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? Because you never really wanted the Avengers working under a committee. Sooner or later, somehow or another, we all would’ve ended up in the Raft anyway. You wanted to topple our empire just like Zemo…You just took a different path.”

Ross’ clothes stank of cigar smoke. Cigar and bourbon. The alcohol saturated his breath so much that Tony could practically taste it in the other man’s exhales. “Do you want to know what I really envisioned?” Ross asked. “I envisioned all of you being publically executed on the international stage. We can’t punish Loki for his crimes, or Ultron, or the aliens that have assaulted earth in the past eight years. We can’t get to Thor, can’t destroy the Hulk, but we can punish you, Stark, for your failures. And, you know what? In my vision, you go to your execution with a smile on your face. A relieved smile. Relieved because you tried for so long, and failed so fantastically, and you know that the world is better off without you.”

With each sentence of his speech, Ross leaned in closer and closer to Stark. When he was an inch away, Tony gathered every bit of energy from his battered body and rammed his head against Ross’ nose. He head-butted him so hard that Ross stumbled onto his backside with blood squirting from his nostrils. The guards sprung forward, but Ross held up his hand. “He’s mine,” the general growled. He leapt to his feet and kicked the chair out from under Stark, sending him crashing to the floor.

Ross kept kicking and punching until he exhausted himself. When he was done he stood panting over the unconscious Avenger, huffing for breath, and not getting as much satisfaction as he expected at the sight of Stark’s blood. Rollins approached the stage cautiously, hesitantly, like Ross was a wounded animal likely to attack anything in proximity. “You want me to tie him back up, boss?”

Ross shook his head. “Find out if the techs are done analyzing the glasses,” he ordered. “We may not be able to manipulate him with a hologram, but let’s see if we can insert an image instead of extracting one. I know just the thought I want him to die with…”

\---------

“Why would I be King of Wakanda? Did I kill T’Challa and claim his throne?” Natasha asked. Beside her, Clint strapped night vision goggles to his face and shot out every camera watching the east side of the factory.

“What? No.” The miniaturized Scott Lang clung to Natasha’s ear lobe like it was a pole on a bumpy bus ride. “It doesn’t matter how you became king. The question is what would you do if you were? Like, if I was King of Wakanda, I’d have a fleet of hot air balloons. I’d fly around tossing bouquets of roses at hot chicks and bombing my rivals with water balloons.”

Natasha scowled. “I wouldn’t want to rule a kingdom. Think of all of the assassination attempts I’d have to deal with!” Barton fished around his quiver for his strongest arrow, and used it like a crowbar to pry open the doors.

“That’s not the point of the game!” Scott droned. “The point is, what would you do if you had all of the power and money in the world?”

“Tony Stark has power and money, and he’s probably being tortured to death two floors below us.”

“Ugh!” Scott threw his hands up in disgust, and almost fell down Natasha’s uniform. “Has anyone ever told you you’re such a killjoy?”

“Dude, she’s messing with you,” Barton notified his new teammate. “And shut the hell up. We’re in.”

Dusty cobwebs covered most of the wrought iron spiral staircase that led to the roof above them and the basements below. Clint peeked over the railing and shot a grappling hook straight up the column. It attached to the ceiling with a click-clang. Barton dropped the rope below and then waited to see if any guards heard the noise. “Spring-loaded retractable cord,” he explained to Lang and Romanoff. “Tug on the cable twice and it will zip up at ten miles per hour.”

“If I was King of Wakanda,” Nat whispered as she and Barton quietly descended the staircase with their guns drawn, “I’d have lots escalators. And every floor would have a moving platform like at the airports.”

“Now you’re talking!” Scott exclaimed.

\---------

The dead elevator had stopped on the top floor, so when Cap pried open the doors, it was easy enough for him to jump down the shaft, Falcon to glide down, and Wanda to hover. Steve pressed his ear against the wall of the subbasement and when he was certain that there were no guards in the immediately vicinity, the threesome stepped into the hall.

Wanda’s nose wrinkled at the heat. “What is that stench?” she whispered.

“Computers overheating,” Sam theorized. “Whatever it is they’re doing down here, they’re trying to do it too fast—frying their equipment.”

Cap held his shield out as he led the way. The first six doors in the corridor were closed and locked. Inside the seventh, four guards were eating cold soup around a crooked table. The first took a Vibranium Frisbee to the throat when he started to yell. The second reached for a panic button on the wall, but Falcon’s wings descended on him like a guillotine. The last two were lifted into the air by red light. Wanda conked their skulls together and dropped them on the floor.

Door number eight flew open at the ruckus. Two security guards stumbled into the hall, eyes wide and trigger fingers poised. Guard number one’s gunshot ricocheted off of Sam’s wings and hit his partner between the eyes. He growled and fired again—directly at Cap’s nose. Wanda’s shield popped up just in time. The bullet collided with red light an inch away from Cap’s face. Grunting with effort, Wanda used her telekinesis to send the bullet back the way it came. Cap leapt over the bodies and took down three more guards gathered around a computer terminal beneath three dozen television screens. Screens that showed every hallway and room in the subbasement.

On one screen, Natasha and Clint had just reached the bottom of the spiral staircase and were grappling with four men with the HYDRA symbol sewn onto their uniforms. On another, Jack Rollins and two women were in the boiler room, apparently taking inventory of the stockpile of C4. On a third screen, Cap saw Ross arguing with a room full of scientists in white lab coats, apparently over a pair of blinking sunglasses. He shoved one in the chest, then stuck his finger against another as he screamed at him, before marching out the door. Steve followed him between cameras before, eventually, he entered a large, dimly lit room with only one other occupant.

“Oh my god,” Rogers exhaled when he recognized Stark. Steve’s fingers automatically went to the screen, as if he could reach through it and touch his friend. Stark lay spread-eagled on his back, weak but squirming as Ross shoved the glasses onto his face. Ross stepped back, pointed what looked like a simple TV remote control and, suddenly, Stark’s writhed like he was having a seizure, and then went eerily still.

“Where—Where is that?” Steve demanded, tapping his finger against the screen, eyes zigzagging wildly around the entire room, looking for answers. “Where is he?”

“He’s in the south wing,” Wilson reported. “Stay calm, brother. Come on.” Sam pried Steve’s fingers away from the screen so that they could see the room number in the corner of the picture. “3082.”

Cap pressed his finger against his earwig. “Barton, Romanoff, we’ve got eyes on Stark. Converge on room 3082.”

“Roger…that…!” Natasha gasped over the coms. Onscreen, Ant-Man leapt out of nowhere and clobbered a HYDRA agent into a water pipe.

“Steve—!” Wanda shrieked from the door. Wilson and Rogers looked up just in time to see Maximoff flop to the floor with a tranquilizer dart sticking out of her neck. A boot the size of a basketball kicked Wanda the rest of the way into the room before an unseen hand tossed in a grenade. Shadows grabbed the door and yanked it shut before Sam could stop them.

The grenade clicked. “SHIT,” Steve cursed. He dove forward, swan-style, and flattened his shield over the grenade like a pot over a pan. It exploded, catapulting Cap straight up into the air. His head, neck, and spine smashed into the cement, taking chunks of it back down to earth with him. He recovered quickly, and gestured for Sam to follow him quietly to the opposite side of the door. A minute later, when the brazen agents opened it to make sure that the Avengers were all dead, Cap and Falcon pounced. They took out the guards, but it was too late to mute the security system. Alarms shrilled. Every light went out, and then turned red.

Steve scooped up Wanda. “Take her,” he ordered, shoving her unconscious form into Sam’s arms. “Get her topside. Now.”

“Cap—” Sam started.

“We’re not losing anybody on this mission!” Steve bellowed. “Get her to the jet and then come back for us—go!”

Falcon spread his wings and, after a last look of regret, sped off down the hall and up the elevator shaft. Steve put his shield on his back and sprinted in the opposite direction. “3060, 3062, 3064,” he counted as he went south. One hall was so full of soldiers that he had to double back and take the corridor parallel. “3076, 3078…”

There. 3082. The last door in the fourth hallway. Steve looked left and right for more guards but none came. One kick was all it took for the door to buckle inward and collapse in its hinges.

3082 was empty. It was just a janitor’s closet.

A fist met Cap when he turned back around. The last thing Steve remembered was Rollins’ grin as he and three others fired hotdog-sized tranquilizer darts into his chest.

\---------

Bucky Barnes was dreaming.

He and Steve were in a bar in Brooklyn, celebrating the end of the war with Peggy Carter, Howard Stark, and the Howling Commandos. They clinked their glasses together, sang songs, and toasted the brave men and women that defeated HYDRA. There was never a fall from a train, never a metal arm, the Winter Soldier, or his own hand pointing a gun at innocent people…There was just a smile on his best friend’s face.

The dream retreated. Cold replaced it. Liquid like lava burst through his brain and his eyelids flew up. The cryo chamber’s glass door opened and revealed King T’Challa standing in the Wakanda lab with his arms crossed against his chest. Bucky lifted his head and looked around for Steve. He wasn’t there. The soldier recognized a bad sign when he saw one…

“What happened?” Bucky croaked.

T’Challa wore his Black Panther suit. “Your friends are in trouble. I should have gone with them…And I know that you do not trust your own mind, that you only have one arm, but—”

Bucky leapt out of the chamber like a jack from a box. He held his hand out as if reaching for a gun. One arm wouldn’t stop Captain America. “Let’s go.”

\----------

A tranquilizer dart plunged into Hawkeye’s vest. Barton ripped it out before it could break the skin, and sent it flying into one of the HYDRA agents’ thighs. Beside him, Natasha took two darts in the stomach. She managed to finish knocking a thug unconscious before the drugs caught up with her, and she collapsed.

“Scott,” Clint bellowed as he drew back his bow to unleash three arrows into the approaching soldiers, “shrink her!”

Lang took out a red particle disk and tossed it at Natasha. She shrunk to the size of an ant, and Barton stood protectively in front of her. “Not that I’m complaining,” Scott said, “but why aren’t the bad guys firing bullets?”

Six more soldiers entered the hallway. “Hide!” Clint ordered. “Scott, take her and hide, now!”

“Not thrilled about this plan!” Lang called before he minimized. Barton swung his bow as the group got closer, then dropped it to switch to hand-to-hand combat. His knife took two more down before he was overtaken. Clint ended up under eight pairs of fists pummeling every inch of him. One man dove over the top of the dogpile and stabbed a dart into Clint’s arm.

Sizzling warmth electrocuted Clint’s body. He shuddered, fighting it. All four limbs went limp and numb. Vaguely, as if through a wall, he heard voices shouting, and then rough hands started dragging his body. He scrambled to get his feet under him. Fingers clawed. His lungs felt like a pair of bricks in his chest. Around him the red lights switched back to their normal glow, and the piercing alarms went silent.

Clint heard a familiar voice shouting, grunting. “Cap—” he whispered before he passed out.

Time passed. He wasn’t sure how much. Hawkeye woke up beside a piano. Not a real piano, he realized. A gray, fake model next to an equally artificial couch. Clint wiggled his hands under his torso and did half a push up. Although it was like looking through water, he spied Steve on his left, lying unconscious on his side. The man in front of him lay on his back—fingers and toes twitching, dried and fresh blood on his skin, more bruises than Clint could count. “Stark,” he croaked. “TONY!”

Crawling to Stark’s side felt like swimming through quicksand. Clint had to stop twice to catch his breath. He sat up on one elbow, legs curled underneath him, and leaned over Stark’s body. Someone had taped a pair of blinking glasses to Iron Man’s face. It took several tries but, eventually, Clint managed to pry them off.

The vacant, tortured look on Stark’s face reminded Barton of Natasha’s after Wanda Maximoff zapped her mind back to the Red Room. Tony’s eyes were open, but not seeing anything. Clint waved his palm back and forth but the pupils didn’t even dilate. “Dammit,” Clint gasped. Sweat trickled down his face and he rubbed it away with shaking hands. “Dammit, Stark, wake up! Tony! Tony, look at me!” Clint tried a harsher tone. “Snap out of it, Stark!” He reared back to slap his hand across his cheeks, but didn’t want to add to the bruises there.

Suddenly, Steve moaned. Clint called his name, but it took Cap another five minutes to completely wake up. When his eyes focused they broadened wider than half-dollar coins at the sight of Stark. “No, Tony,” he hiccupped. He ripped off his cowl, crawled to Stark’s opposite side, and shook his friend’s shoulders. “Tony?” Steve pried off the top half of his uniform, everything but a gray t-shirt, and rolled it up into a pillow under Stark’s head. Then, both he and Clint peeled off their gloves and pressed the fabric against the biggest bleeders. Tony flinched at the pressure. His bottom lip trembled for a moment, but the rest of him remained still.

“Tony, Pepper’s alive,” Clint said. He leaned over his friend’s face and tried to catch his eye. “The woman you saw was just disguised as her. It wasn’t real—it wasn’t Pepper.” Clint’s frown deepened as he waited for some reaction. “Stark, do you hear me? Pepper’s alive. PEPPER’S ALIVE!”

Tony’s nose suddenly wrinkled like he caught a whiff of something rotten. He squinted, and his breathing sped up. Brown eyes blinked. “Sorry,” he whispered. “So sorry…”

Clint perked up. “Tony?” He took Stark’s hand and squeezed. “Tony, you with us?”

Tony’s eyes focused on his—just for a moment. “I killed Steve,” he whispered. “I’m sorry…”

“No, you didn’t. Cap. Cap, he needs to hear your voice.” Clint grabbed Steve’s hands and shoved Tony’s between them. “Talk to him!”

Steve swallowed the nothing in his throat. “Tony? It’s me. It’s Steve. I’m alive. And I’m right here. I’m with you.”

Tony’s eyes focused, and finally stayed that way. “No, I killed you,” he gulped. “And Clint…Clint hates me. I burned that bridge…”

Clint rubbed a trembling hand across Tony’s forehead, down his cheek, and through his hair. “I came for you,” he said, voice angrier than he intended. “I saw, Tony. I know what you did for me and my family. And even if I hadn’t…We’re a team, Tony. I’ll—I’ll always come for you.”

“You’re just a hologram,” Tony whispered, eyes on Clint. “And you’re just a ghost,” he told Steve. Stark’s throat worked. His Adam’s Apple bounced up and down. “I killed you, I killed you…”

“He’s stuck in a memory,” a voice announced from behind them. Steve and Clint turned to see Ross watching the entire scene. “Neutral-electric interfacing allowed me to insert an image of his own hands killing Captain America, and force him to watch it over and over again.” Ross lit a cigar and spoke with it poking out of the corner of his mouth. “I set the scene using his memory of that silo in Siberia. Melded real life and fiction—fiction is always more believable with a dash of reality, don’t you think?”

Steve kept his hands on Tony’s. “You wanted us to come here. You baited us with those video clips of Stark. You didn’t even try to disguise the video’s origin. This whole thing was a trap.”

“You’re alive right now only because I want you to be,” Ross confirmed. “And if you behave, they might stay alive for just a little while longer.” Ross nodded at the back wall. Clint and Steve shared a look of dread before they turned.

Wanda and Sam, in various states of semi-consciousness from the tranquilizers, hung from the ceiling by their wrists. Steve’s shield and Clint’s bow and arrows lay scattered with Falcon’s wings beneath them.

“Here’s what happened. Or, rather, here’s what the press will think happened.” Ross approached the stage and sent a ring of cigar smoke across Steve’s face. “In the morning the local police will respond to an anonymous tip. When they storm this place they’ll find your dead bodies perfectly arranged to make it look like you all killed each other. Zemo couldn’t get you to murder each other, but I’ll do the next best thing. So…” Ross sneered, “any last words?”

\---------

Scott set the unconscious Natasha on the floor of the Quinjet and started digging through every first aid kit like there were prizes at the bottom. “Steroids? Stimulants? Aha! Naloxone.” Lang drew 2mg into a needle and stabbed it into the Black Widow’s leg. Nat’s breathing went from shallow to normal in under two minutes, and two minutes after that she opened her eyes.

“Clint?” Nat whispered. With Scott’s help she sat up and leaned against the wall.

“Bad guys got him. I’m sorry,” Scott said. “I don’t know what happened to the others.”

“Dammit,” Natasha grumbled. “We have to, um…Call Vision. Fury. Coulson. That Spider-Child if it’s not past his bedtime…We need backup.” She struggled to stand as the last of the drugs disintegrated in her system.

“I don’t think there’s time.” Scott took a deep breath and said, “The men who took Barton away? They said something about an execution. We’re past Ross’ original deadline. Romanoff, they could already be dead.”

Fire blazed in Natasha’s eyes. She shoved Scott aside and stumbled to the weapons locker. “Load more syringes.”

Scott watched her attach guns and magazines all over her body. “Romanoff, they’re expecting us. If you charge in through the same doors you’ll just get captured, too.”

“I don’t care.” Tears burned Natasha’s eyes. “I just got my boys back. If the Avengers are going to die, we’ll die together.” She marched past Scott and down the ramp. In the distance, lights came to life on every floor of the factory. Ross wasn’t hiding anymore. A small brigade started filing out of the building. They were heading straight for the jet.

Natasha gasped when a sleek, slim ship descended from the clouds with a swan’s grace. It landed beside the Quinjet and two figures jumped out. “I overheard your little game,” T’Challa called to Scott as he and Bucky approached. “I played a similar one when I was a young man. If I was King of Wakanda,” he said with a smile, “I would help my friends.”

\---------

Wanda Maximoff didn’t understand what she was seeing. In recent years she had come to accept impossible things—she was one, herself—but this scene was beyond her. As she hung from her binds, vaguely listening to Rogers and Ross trade insults, she spotted a herd of Bull Ants carrying a syringe up the wall. In her dazed fugue state, she didn’t feel the initial pinch when the ants stabbed the needle into her hip, but she did sense the effects of the drugs almost instantly. The room came into focus as if it had morphed from black-and-white to color. Wanda’s powers pulsed in her fingers. She smiled a “thank you” at the insects as they scurried away.

“Bring them down,” Ross called. Rollins and several other HYDRA mercenaries untethered her and Sam and tossed them onto the floor with Clint, Steve, and Stark. Wanda kept her head down, pretending to still be helpless from the tranquilizers. She inched closer to Tony until she could slide her hand under the back of his head. With the red energy in her fingers hidden, she got to work healing Tony Stark’s mind.

\----------

Tony only saw the world through the images playing in the foreground of his mind. It was like watching one TV show directly on top of the other. In the first image he was back in Siberia, back in that silo, beating on Captain America with all of his might. He pinned Cap to the ground, ripped the cowl off, and then raised his repulsors over Steve’s chest. Instead of Rogers plunging his shield into the armor, Tony stabbed his lasers straight through Steve’s heart. Blood splattered out of Cap’s mouth. He gasped Tony’s name, shuddered, and died…And then the scene started all over again.

Beyond that—like the window pane past a curtain—was the stage. Ross crossed it. Rollins dragged a body in and tossed it beside Tony. Goons without nametags carried in a man who looked suspiciously like Clint Barton. For a second that idea almost distracted Tony from the repeating horror, until he remembered the hologram.

For the longest time he was alone with the new memory. Momentarily he remembered that it was new, that it was different, that it was a corrupted version of what happened in Siberia. But he saw it so many times, and it was bound to him so deep that, eventually, he forgot how the real story ended. Steve was dead. That was the new truth. Dead by his hands. Tony could justify that so many things weren’t his fault, but this…

He felt Steve’s blood on his hands. It was so warm.

The Clint hologram spoke to him. Why was Ross bothering? Didn’t he know that Tony wouldn’t fall for that trick? What did he want to know, anyway? His questions before had been all about Steve, but Steve was dead. What else mattered if Steve was dead?

“PEPPER’S ALIVE!” holo-Barton said. He raised his hand to strike Stark and, vaguely, Tony acknowledged that this hologram was left-handed.

Warm, calloused hands took his. “I’m with you,” the ghost of Steve Rogers said.

Tony drifted. He watched himself murder his friend over and over again. The shouting in the world beyond grew dim…

Red light in his eyes. Scarlet energy attacked the memory like lightning bolts. It disintegrated bit by bit until, after a series of blinks, Stark was no longer seeing it at all. As an experiment, he tried to recall the memory, but the only one he had was of Rogers straddling him and dropping the shield like a guillotine. Even the memory OF the memory was fading.

Hot sizzles attacked the drugs in his veins. The real world came into focus. He looked up and saw Wanda leaning over him, her long hair an umbrella sheltering both of their faces. She winked at him and he gave her a grateful smile. Tony lifted his head and saw Ross conversing with Rollins. Goons moved equipment through the far doors.

His brain worked Tony Stark-fast. He evaluated his body—stiff, ribs broken, more bruise than not, barely movable. He evaluated the room—counted the guards, measured the distance to the exit, diagnosed Ross as “impatient.” “What do you mean you can’t find the jet?” Ross bellowed at Rollins. “Security cameras confirmed its location. Even if it went into stealth mode the teams would’ve heard it take off!”

Tony looked to his left. Wilson was shaking his head like he was trying to knock water out of his ears. His eyes were unfocused but wide, like he was fighting to concentrate. Barton was beside him, eyeing Ross warily. Wanda had turned her attention to him. She pressed her hand against his back and sent red energy into his body—why would she do that if he was just a hologram? Tony stared at his friend for half a minute before he was completely convinced that he was real. “Clint,” Stark gulped. He took a fistful of Barton’s shirt.

“Tony?” a voice gasped on his right. Steve leaned over him. Tears stung Tony’s eyes. He was embarrassed by them, but didn’t fight them off. Steve was ALIVE. He cupped Tony’s cheeks between his hands and beamed at him. “Got your letter,” Steve sniffed.

“It was unfinished,” Tony whispered.

“Yes, it is,” Steve stated firmly. “And it’ll stay that way, Tony. You were gearing up to say ‘goodbye’.”

“Didn’t think you’d come,” Tony whispered. He tasted the salt of his own tears. “Any of you,” he said, turning back to Clint.

Barton took his hand. “I’m supposed to go waterskiing with my family,” he said. “You can buy the Avengers a boat, right?”

“Family vacation?” Stark grinned. “Looking forward to it.” Tony tried to sit up, then, but didn’t get very far. “I might not be much help, fellas,” he groaned, wincing and flinching and trembling. “Busted up pretty bad…”

Steve wiped his wrist across his eyes. “We’re going to have to make a move soon, team. Here’s the plan—”

“Um,” Sam said quietly. A warning of some sort reverberated in his voice, and the other four immediately looked at him. “I’ve been watching something tiny buzz around the room. Don’t everybody look at once, but it just landed on Cap’s shield, and it looks familiar.”

They couldn’t help it. As one, Steve, Clint, Wanda, and Tony looked at the wall behind them. And there, squatting in the center of the Avengers’ “A,” no larger than a cup of yogurt, was the Quinjet.

Steve aimed a small salute at the jet’s windshield. “At my signal,” he instructed. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he thought he saw a tiny hand give him a thumb’s up.

\---------

Wanda held Sam’s hand behind Clint’s back. She drew the drugs out of him like the gas from the lab in Lagos. “I need a little more time,” she whispered to Cap as Ross and Rollins approached.

“I’ll stall,” Steve murmured. “Stay behind me.” Cap staggered to his feet and shuffled in front of Stark. Rollins pulled a gun but didn’t fire. “The Avengers is bigger than us,” Cap declared. “We still have teammates out there. S.H.I.E.L.D. will figure out what you did here, and Thor and Banner will take you down.”

Ross waved his hand towards the door. More soldiers, armed with automatic weapons, filed in. “On your knees, Captain. Time for your execution.”

“You won’t recover from this. Your career might, but you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Ross took out his own weapon and aimed it at Tony. “On your knees. All of you.”

“Thirty seconds,” Wanda whispered to the group.

Steve took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders and fisted his hands. “If we’re going to die today, we’ll die standing up.” Ross’ gun dropped an inch when, as one, clinging to each other like they were balancing on a rickety lifeboat, the Avengers got to their feet. Steve pulled Stark’s right arm across his shoulders and Clint took his left. Wanda stood between Sam and Barton and held their hands tight with both of hers. She squeezed Clint’s twice and he passed the signal to Cap. They were ready.

Ross shook his head at them. “A pathetic victory,” he said. He cocked his weapon. Rollins followed suit. “Whether you’re standing or kneeling, Rogers, you’ll still be dead.”

“NOW!” Steve shouted. Steve and Clint dove to the right with Tony. Sam and Wanda dove left. At the same time, Scott and Bucky dropped from the ceiling beside Ross, enlarging to their full heights as they fell. Barnes yanked Ross’ arm down and the bullet meant for Tony embedded in his leg. The miniaturized Quinjet launched forward and fired pea-sized missiles at the soldiers. And then the entire building shuddered as if from an earthquake as T’Challa fired on it from his ship above. Everyone in it was knocked off their feet and sent rolling.

The Quinjet flew into the center of the room. It enlarged right when two of the soldiers opened fire, and protected the Avengers from the bullets. Rollins took one of the wings in the stomach and went flying. Ross went down under Bucky’s fist while Scott zipped around disabling the other guards one by one. In the jet, Natasha aimed at the section of the compound furthest from the C4 in the boiler room, and let the ship’s Gatling gun loose. Walls turned to confetti and Ross’ men scattered.

Wanda used her powers to shield Sam as he scrambled for the shield, the bow and arrows, and the Falcon gear. He tossed the gear through the jet’s open hatch, then gave Wanda a leg-up into it. The hovering ship staggered to the side as one of T’Challa’s hits crumbled the west wall. Debris tumbled loose and rained down. “Cap!” Sam yelled through the destruction. He couldn’t see Steve anymore through the dust.

Bucky punched Ross into the floor and then yelled at Lang to follow him. “I’ll find them!” he shouted at Sam and, reluctantly, both Wilson and Scott jumped into the jet. Limping, struggling to block his face from the rubble and dodge bullets from the next wave of soldiers busting into the room, Barnes scrambled to the other side of the room. He found Clint pinned under a chunk of wall, which he was barely keeping aloft as it threatened to squash Tony and Steve. Bucky pressed his shoulder against the bricks, adding his strength. He and Barton held it upright long enough for Steve and Stark to limp to the ship.

“Hurry up!” Nat called from the cockpit. “This whole place is collapsing!”

Barton and Barnes picked up weapons and laid down cover fire while Steve lifted Tony onto the ramp. They crawled up it on their knees. “Buck!” Steve cried when they were safely inside. “Barton! Let’s go!”

Clint dropped his gun and leapt. He missed his footing for a second, banging his gut against the side of the ramp, but Bucky jumped up and pulled him in the rest of the way. Hydraulics whooshed. The pair ended up rolling downhill as the ramp folded upwards. They landed in a dogpile with Stark and Rogers, while Wilson, Lang, and Wanda stood over them.

“Punch it, Nat!” Steve yelled when everyone was safe.

“Hang on!” Natasha rotated the ship and aimed her weapons at the ceiling. With the Quinjet firing from below, and T’Challa from above, a hole in the building expanded wide enough for the Avengers to rise through. In the basement, a bloody Ross shouted in rage as the jet ascended. He fished around his pockets for the remote. It only fired a radio signal but, still, the general got some satisfaction from pointing it at the jet. “You won’t get out of here alive,” he called to it. “None of us will.”

Ross hit the button, and the C4 in the boiler room erupted.

\----------

“We’re coming out!” Nat’s voice echoed over T’Challa’s coms.

T’Challa piloted his vessel to the southern side of the factory. Through his window he watched the Quinjet rise from the wreckage of the building. It made it fifty feet off the ground when the blast wave hit.

The explosion was so bright that T’Challa was briefly blinded. He kept one hand on the controls but used his other arm to block the light. Fire licked at his vessel. Alarms shrilled. He steered up and away from the detonation and stayed there, hovering, until he was sure that it was over. When he could see again, and hear more than his heart pounding in his ears, T’Challa scanned the area.

The Quinjet was intact, but it was smoking, and lying upside down in a parking lot a hundred yards away. T’Challa landed his ship and scrambled over to it, picking up bits of metal debris as he went and then using it to pry open the hatch. It was stuck. He only moved it a few inches. In the distance, police cars, firetrucks, and ambulances announced their approach.

T’Challa cursed. He extended his Vibranium claws and plunged them into the metal hatch. Steam and smoke poured out as he lowered the hatch another inch. “Stand back!” a voice coughed from inside. T’Challa obeyed, and a moment later the entire ship shook as if hit by a battering ram. The hatch flopped open and Steve Rogers rolled down the ramp head over heels. “Help me,” he gasped, and dropped his newly scraped up shield before sprinting back into the ship. T’Challa followed.

Natasha unhooked herself from the pilot’s seat, did a flip in mid-air and landed on the ship’s ceiling, which was now the floor. Wanda was the closest. She helped the stunned woman stand up and then, with Sam’s assistance, limped over the other bodies and out the door. Stark, Barnes, and Barton lay still. Steve scooped up Tony and T’Challa pulled Clint and Bucky by their wrists. The group managed to get far enough away from the ship so that, when the fire finally engulfed it, they only felt the flames instead of being burned by them.

Blood gushed from Barton’s head, and Bucky looked just as bad. Ambulances rolled up and Natasha and T’Challa started directing them. Steve sat on the ground with Tony’s body cradled in his lap. “Stay awake, Stark,” Cap coughed. “Hey.” He shook Tony, jogging the other man from a light doze, and forcing him to meet his eyes. He had to keep him conscious, so Steve started talking about the first thing that came to mind. “Your letter cut off in mid-sentence. You said you were sorry about Peggy, about Buck, and Zemo. And then you started to say something else…’More than anything,’” Steve quoted. “What was it?”

Tony couldn’t move if he tried. Unconsciousness was about to defeat him. Steve’s voice came to him as if through a windstorm. “More than anything,” Tony whispered, “I’m sorry that I let you down.”

Steve shook his head—shook it so fast that dust rained down from his hair. “You didn’t,” he insisted. He said it again, and again, but Stark couldn’t hear him anymore. “Tony! TONY!”

\----------

FIVE DAYS LATER

On the morning that the Sydney hospital took Tony Stark out of his induced coma, 14 people were crowded into the room next door. Laura Barton had arrived with their children, Cooper, Lila, and Nathaniel Pietro. Laura held the baby and Natasha helped Lila draw a ‘get well’ card for Tony. Cooper had crawled into Clint’s hospital bed, ignoring the IVs, and the bandages around Hawkeye’s skull. He buried his face against his father’s chest and refused to move. Every once in a while he sniffed, and Clint kissed his hair. The Vision arrived with Rhodey, who limped in on crutches with his legs half-operational thanks to Tony’s custom braces. He’d brought Wanda’s guitar with him, and alternated between teaching her some chords and showing Bucky some sketches of a new artificial arm Stark had designed. Bucky had suffered a massive concussion but his head, and the gunshot to his leg, were healing quickly. Sam, Scott, and T’Challa had started a Scrabble game in the corner. Despite the fact that English was his second language, the King was defeating the other two Avengers by a hundred points.

“One at a time,” Stark’s doctor ordered when he appeared in the doorframe and everybody got up. “Captain, he’s asking for you.”

Steve hesitated. He shared a look with Clint and Natasha. “Anything I should know?”

“He’s stable.” The doctor slid his fingertip across a black tablet. “The swelling in his brain has gone down. All of the internal bleeders are patched up. Respiration and heart rate are finally back to normal. He’s sore. His broken ribs will take a long time to heal. Try to keep him calm—the last thing he needs is to have a panic attack. His blood pressure is still too high.”

“Right.” Steve nodded at the group and headed towards the door. Lila Barton jumped out of Natasha’s lap and beat him to it.

“Captain Rogers, would you please give this to Mr. Stark?” she asked, handing over her card.

Steve gave her a grateful smile. “He’ll love it,” he assured her. “Thank you.”

\----------

Cap wasn’t sure why walking ten feet to the bed felt like approaching a feral animal. He forced himself to move, and propped Lila’s card up on Tony’s bedside table. Thick blinds covered the windows. The only light in the hospital room came from one overhead bulb. Tony’s closed eyelids looked jaundiced in the dim glow.

Tony stirred when Steve sat on the edge of the mattress. He licked pale lips and blinked swollen eyes. When he focused on Cap, the beeps on the heart rate monitor sped up. Under the bedsheet and hospital gown, his chest began to rise and fall faster and faster.

“Tony?” Concerned, Steve put a hand on his friend’s arm. “What’s wrong? Should I get the doctor?”

Stark stared at Steve’s hand on his skin. “I, uh…” He coughed through a dry throat. “Everything’s kind of a blur. I’m not sure…T-There were drugs, and holograms, and ghosts, and fake memories, and fever dreams and I have a headache and how—how do I know if this is r-real?” Sweat broke out across Tony’s hairline. His bottom lip quivered. “Steve?”

Rogers took Stark’s hand and placed it against his chest. “Do you feel that?” he asked quietly. “Do you feel my heart beating?”

Tony tried to focus. He held his breath, shut his eyes, and concentrated on his palm. After half a minute, he nodded. “That’s real,” he said, and repeated it to himself twice more. “I didn’t kill you.” Tony took a meditative breath—slowly in, slowly out. “I didn’t kill you.” He nodded at Steve, and sunk back into the pillows. On the monitors, his vitals returned to normal. “How’s your team?”

Steve allowed Tony’s hand to rest in his lap. “Our team,” he corrected. “S.H.I.E.L.D. delivered all the info we have on Ross to the United Nations. The whole taskforce has been labeled dirty. All charges have been dropped. We’re not fugitives anymore.”

Stark perked up. “What about Barnes? Did Fury make the UN understand that he was brainwashed?” Steve nodded. “I was thinking—dreaming, maybe—between Wanda’s mind powers and my tech, there’s got to be a way to permanently deactivate the Winter Soldier brainwashing. If she can erase my fake memory, she’s got to be able to disable those trigger words.”

Steve felt something loosen in a section of his chest that he didn’t realize was wound up. “Even after…” he bit his bottom lip before speaking again. “Tony, your parents…”

A darkness spread across Tony’s face but dissipated quickly. "I saw Barnes take that bullet for me back in the black site. He’s one of us now, Steve. An Avenger,” he said. “The Winter Soldier killed my parents, Stark tech killed Wanda's, Pietro died for Clint, my best friend was paralyzed by an android I helped create...” Tony shook his head in awe. “Our lives, man, I don’t know…”

Steve smiled at him. “I spoke on the phone with Pepper.”

Tony squirmed and averted his eyes. “Is she ok?”

“She’s worried about you,” Steve said. “Coulson says ‘hi.’”

Tony returned the smile. “He’s proof, isn’t he?”

“Proof of what?”

Tony shrugged. “If he can come back from the dead, then the Avengers can, too.”

Steve sniffed. He blinked away the water in his eyes. “Thanks for my shield,” he whispered.

Tony looked at him. “Thanks for rescuing me.” He held Cap’s gaze for a second before looking away. His eyes landed on Lila’s card, and his brows furrowed. “Is that Iron Man…waterskiing?”

Steve wiped his nose. “Yeah,” he chuckled. “We’re all going on a trip three weekends from now.” Cap squeezed Tony’s hand. “The whole family.”

\---------

 

_THREE WEEKENDS LATER_

 

Green vines with brilliant red, peach, and yellow flowers crisscrossed a white sign that read, in flowing black letters: _Monongahela Manor_. Beyond open cast iron gates, at the crest of a cement driveway that zigzagged up a shallow hill of healthy grass, stood the largest mansion the Barton family had ever seen. Three stories of pristine white bricks. A five-car garage. A dozen chimney stacks. Balconies across the entire length of the house. Three elevators that they could see. An outside spiral staircase that led up to a crow’s nest at the highest point of the roof. More windows than they could count.

 

“Holy shit!” Cooper shouted. “This place is as wide as a football field!”

 

His mother was too shocked to correct his ‘bad’ language. “Whoa. You’re sure we’re in the right place?” Laura asked her husband.

 

Clint chuckled. His smile was as bright as the afternoon sunlight. “Were you expecting a two-room cabin? This is on Tony Stark’s dime.”

 

“I bet this place has a pool!” said Lila.

 

“Bet this place has a zip code,” muttered Laura. She looked down at her outfit and scowled at her faded olive-green t-shirt and jeans ripped at both knees. “Are we… Are we underdressed for this?”

 

Clint rolled up the long sleeves of his button-down plaid shirt. Mud caked his farming boots and his jeans had grass stains like polka dots. “It’s a vacation, honey. Anyone not wearing casual civvies is weird.”

 

In the back of the small navy car, between his big brother and big sister, a baby woke up and squealed. “Nathaniel says we should go inside!” Cooper translated. The front doors opened right then. The family recognized Natasha, who wore a black bikini underneath denim shorts and a white tank top. She waved them forward. Clint put the car into gear and pulled into the last spot in the garage.

 

It was like walking into a luxury hotel. There was even a man wearing a pressed tuxedo who insisted on taking their suitcases to their suite. Natasha gave Laura a hug and a peck on the cheek, greeted ‘Traitor,’ then grabbed the kids’ hands and escorted them through the gigantic living room to an open-air veranda. Clint and Laura followed with Nathaniel only after they ordered drinks at the fully stocked bar. Outside, Cooper and Lila jumped up and down at the sight of the west side of the mansion. Three swimming pools. Two hot tubs. Padded picnic tables beneath wide umbrellas. Palm trees, outside showers, a cage the size of their car full of exotic birds. A mini golf course to their left and a basketball court to their right. And all of it was directly on the shore of the Monongahela River. Two pontoon boats and three motor boats were docked along a wide oak pier.

 

Natasha, her red hair in a tight ponytail and her eyes shaded by wide sunglasses, sat in the center of a padded bench and gestured for the Barton’s to join her. Once the group was situated, she slipped a SHIELD-issue communicator into her ear and reported, “Birds are in the nest. Mission is a go.”

 

“No, no,” said Clint with a sly grin. “No missions! No farming, no training, no missions for a week!”

 

“It’s probably not _that_ kind of mission, Dad,” said Lila, rolling her eyes. “Not one of your stupid arrow tournaments!”

 

Natasha’s palm covered her mouth, muting a snort-laugh. “How old is she now?” she mouthed at Clint.

 

“Not old enough,” Laura mimed back.

 

Clint pretended to lift a bow and fire an arrow. “Let her believe I’m training Olympians for a few more years!” he whispered. Natasha gave him a thumb’s up.

 

Cooper, who followed the entire exchange, pointed proudly at himself. “I know!” he whispered behind his sister’s back. “My dad’s a superhero. He saves the world!”

 

Lila heard him. “Iron Man is a superhero!” she said after a laugh. “Daddy and Auntie Nat are just his friends.”

 

Rumbling in the distance. The kids sat up straight when a motor boat zoomed in from the south. And trailing from the boat at the end of 25-foot rope, exactly like in the drawing Lila made for Tony in the hospital, was a waterskiing Iron Man. Both kids stood up on the bench, raised their arms, and cheered.

 

Nat leaned past Cooper and said, “Look at the name of the boat.”

 

Clint did. “That’s a coincidence. Stark owns a boat named ‘Laura’?”

 

“No,” Nat said, “you do.”

 

All ten of Laura’s fingers cupped her own cheeks. “He didn’t… He—He—It’s _ours_?”

 

“No more renting.” Natasha had to speak louder to be heard over the kids’ excited shouts when the motor boat passed close enough to splash the dock with water. “Don’t give me that look, Clint. I got a present, too. Everyone did.”

 

Clint aimed his thumb at the building behind them. “Don’t tell me you got the house.”

 

“Pretty sure that’s for Pepper.”

 

Down on the water, Tony lifted his right arm into the air. Instead of activating the repulsor, he launched red and gold fireworks into the cloudless sky. Lila twirled around and hugged her father’s neck. “Daddy, you have the coolest friends!”

 

\---------

 

The doorbell rang at 9pm. Tony’s hair was still wet from his dip in the pool with Pepper. He still wore his swim trunks and nothing else but a sleeveless t-shirt. Steve stood on the front porch wearing jeans and sheepish look. “This place is like a dream,” he said. “And look at you—on your feet. Not even using a walker.”

 

“If I need one I’ll just borrow yours, Grandpa.” Tony shut the door behind Cap and then pulled his friend in for a quick hug. “Glad you came.”

 

“Me, too. Can’t remember the last time I had a vacation… Probably because I’ve never had a vacation.”

 

Both of Tony’s eyebrows popped up. “No trips to the beach when you were a kid? Fishing? Hiking? Nothing?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Went on a Ferris Wheel once.”

 

“Well, then consider this the first annual vacation. From now on, we’re doing this every year.”

 

The living room was beyond crowded. Spread out among half a dozen couches arranged in a circle were the Barton’s, Natasha, Pepper, Maria Hill, Fury, Phil Coulson, Scott, Sam Wilson, Bucky, Wanda, T’Challa, Rhodey, Sharon, and Vision. Nathaniel, Lila, Cooper, and Scott’s daughter, Cassie, were upstairs in bed. Everyone held up their glasses to greet Cap. Steve sat between Bucky and Sharon and greeted both by patting their knees.

 

Tony held his hand out for Pepper. She took it, and stood up beside him. “A toast!” Stark announced. Pepper raised her appletini and Tony his Scotch. “To the best vacation of our lives!” he said. “To SHIELD, to Earth, I guess! And to…” Tony cleared his throat. His eyes shone. “To all of you. You’ve each, in one way or another, saved my life. I owe you more than I can say and, you know me, I love to hear myself talk.” The room chuckled. “So…Cheers! Cheers to the Avengers—cheers to us!”

 

“To us!” everyone agreed. Glasses clinked. Shots were swallowed. Hugs were exchanged. And the Avengers family settled in for a well-deserved vacation.

 

**The End**


End file.
